Trash (2 page)

With the right key, you can bust the door wide open. Because nobody’s going to open it for you.

Raphael still!

I’ll hand on to Gardo after this – after the evening.

You see, just after dark I realized I had something very, very, very important, because the police arrived and asked for it back.

You don’t see many police in Behala, because in a shanty you sort out your own problems. There’s not a lot to steal, and we don’t usually steal from each other – though it happens. We had a murder a few months ago, and the police came then. An old man killed his wife – slit her throat and left her bleeding down the walls to the shack underneath. By the time they came he’d run and we never heard whether they got him. We had four police cars come on an election visit, surrounding a man who wanted to be mayor – lights flashing and radios crackling
away, because they all love a show, these police. Otherwise, they have better things to do.

This time it was five men, one of them looking very important, like a senior officer – older man, fatter man. More of a boxer, with a smashed-up nose, no hair, and a mean look.

The sun had gone down. There was a cooking fire, where my auntie was boiling up the rice, and tonight – on account of the money I’d found – we were having that precious one-eighty chicken. About thirty of us were gathered – not all to eat one chicken! That was just for the family. But it’s hot in the evenings, so people are out squatting, standing, roaming.

I think Gardo had a ball and we’d been fooling around under the hoop. Now we all stood still in the headlights of this big black four-wheel-drive, and the men got out.

The boxer cop had a quick chat with Thomas, who’s the main man in our little patch, and then he was talking to all of us.

‘A friend of ours has a problem,’ he said. Voice like a megaphone. ‘It’s a pretty big problem, and we’re hoping you can help. Fact is, he’s lost something important. We’re giving good money to anyone who finds it. Another fact is, if anyone here finds it, we’re going to give a thousand pesos to every family in Behala, you understand? That is how important it is to our friend. And we’re giving ten thou to you – to the one who actually puts it in my hand.’

‘What have you lost?’ said a man.

‘We’ve lost … a bag,’ said the policeman, and my skin went dry and cold, but I managed not to show it. He turned and took something from the man behind him, and held it up. It was a handbag made of black plastic, big as my hand. ‘It probably looks like this,’ he said. ‘Bit bigger, bit smaller – not exactly the same, but similar. We think this bag might have something important in it that’s going to help us solve a crime.’

‘When did you lose it?’ said someone.

‘Last night,’ said the policeman. ‘It was put in the trash by mistake. Out on McKinley Hill, somewhere round there. And the truck picked up all the McKinley trash this morning. That means it’s either here right now, or coming in tomorrow.’ He watched us, and we watched him.

‘Has anyone found a bag?’

I could feel Gardo’s eyes fixed on me.

I so nearly raised my hand. I so nearly spoke up then and there, because ten thousand is good money. And a thousand to every family? That’s what they were promising, and if they gave it, oh my! I’d be the most popular boy in the neighbourhood. But I didn’t, because I was also thinking fast, thinking that I could as well give it up in the morning as now. I better be clear: I’d never had any trouble with the police before then, so it wasn’t that I didn’t like them or didn’t want to be helpful. But everyone knows not to trust too far. What if they just took it and drove off laughing? What was I going to do to stop them?
I needed time to think, so I stood there, dumb. Maybe there was a bit of calculation going on as well. If they had money to give away, then they could be raised up over ten, and we could get it all up front. If it was precious enough for them to come all this way out to see us, then perhaps ten thousand would turn into twenty?

My auntie said, ‘Raphael found something, sir.’

She nodded, and all the police were looking straight at me.

‘What did you find?’ said the boss.

‘I didn’t find a bag, sir,’ I said.

‘What did you find?’

‘I found a … shoe.’

Somebody laughed.

‘What kind of shoe? One shoe? When was this?’

‘One shoe, sir – just a lady’s shoe. I can get it – it’s in my house.’

‘What makes you think we’re going to be interested in that? You playing games?’

He was looking back at my auntie, and her eyes were back on the rice, then on me, then on the rice.

‘He said he found something,’ she said. ‘He never said what he found. Just trying to be helpful, sir.’

The cop in charge spoke loudly. ‘Listen. We’re going to be back here in the morning,’ he said. ‘We are going to pay anyone who wants work. One day, one week – however long it takes. We need to find that bag, and we’ll pay to find it.’

One of the other policemen walked over to me, quite a young man. Gardo was right next to me then, and the policeman put his hand under my chin and tilted my head up. I looked into his eyes, trying so hard not to look scared. He was smiling, but I was glad to feel Gardo right up against me, and I smiled back as best I could.

‘What’s your name?’ he said.

I told him.

‘Brothers? Sisters? This your brother?’

‘My best friend, sir. This is Gardo.’

‘Where do you live, son?’

I told him everything, fast and happy, smiling hard – and I watched him fix our house in his mind, and then fix my face. He rubbed my ear gently, like I was a kid. He said: ‘You gonna help us tomorrow, Raphael? How old are you?’

‘Fourteen, sir.’ I know I look younger.

‘Where’s your father?’

‘No father, sir.’

‘That was your ma?’

‘Auntie.’

‘You want work, Raphael? You gonna help?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘How much are you paying? I’ll work for ever!’ I made my smile bigger and my eyes wider, trying just to be an excited, harmless, cute little trash boy.

‘One hundred,’ he said. ‘One hundred for the day, but if you find that bag …’

‘I wanna help too,’ said Gardo, pretending to be eight years old and showing his teeth. ‘What’s in the bag, sir? More money?’

‘Bits and pieces. Nothing valuable, but—’

‘What kind of crime?’ I said. ‘How’s it gonna help you solve a crime? Is it a murder?’

The policeman smiled at me some more. He looked at Gardo too. ‘I don’t even think it will,’ he said. ‘But we got to give it our best shot.’ He was looking at me hard again, and Gardo’s arm was right round me. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Then the policemen climbed back into their car and drove on, and we made sure we stood right up close to show we weren’t afraid, and we made sure we ran with the car and waved. Now, Behala’s full of little neighbourhoods just like ours. The shacks we live in grow up out of the trash piles, bamboo and string, piled upwards – it’s like little villages in amongst the hills. We watched the car, rocking over the ruts and holes, the lights going up and down. If they wanted to talk to everyone, they’d have to make the same speech ten times.

Later on, my auntie came close and said, ‘Why are you telling lies, Raphael Fernández?’

‘I found a wallet,’ I said. ‘I gave you what I found – why did you say that to them?’

She came close and she spoke quietly. ‘You found the bag, didn’t you? You tell me now.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I found money.’

‘Why did you say a shoe? Why did you not tell the truth?’

I shrugged, and tried to be sly. ‘Ma, I thought they might want the wallet back,’ I said.

‘Money in a wallet? Where’s the wallet now?’

‘I’m going to get it! I just didn’t want to speak up in front of everyone, everyone looking right at me, and—’

‘You found the wallet in a bag? You can’t lie to me.’

‘No!’ I said. ‘No.’

She looked at me hard again, and shook her head. ‘You gonna get us into a lot of trouble, I think. Whose wallet was it? People always have a name, and if you—’

‘I just took the money,’ I said. ‘I’ll throw the damn thing away right now.’

‘You give it to the police.’

‘Why? It’s not what they’re looking for, Ma. I didn’t find a bag.’

‘Oh, boy,’ she said. ‘Raphael. What I’m thinking is, if they’re throwing money around to get that something back, you don’t want to be caught messing about with it. I am serious, Raphael. If you found anything like the thing they’re wanting, you need to give it up – first thing in the morning, when they’re back.’

Gardo ate with us. He often did, just as I often ate with him and his uncle. I spent the night at his, just as he spent the night at ours – I’d wake up forgetting which place I was in and who was under the blanket with me. Anyway,
just as we finished, the police car came back, big and black, and drove right out of the gates.

We watched it go.

I couldn’t believe Auntie had said what she said. I knew she’d had problems with the police before, on account of my father, and I guess she had some feeling, even then, that things were going to get complicated. I think she wanted to stop it all there, all at once – but I still say she was wrong. It was one of the things that made leaving easier.

I went up to my house, Gardo following. We live high, compared to many. Two rooms built out of truck pallets, with plastic and canvas holding it fast, and it’s stacked over three families below. You go up three stepladders to get to it. First, the bit where Auntie and my half-sister sleep, and beyond that’s another little box, about the size of a sheet. That’s where me and my cousins go, and Gardo too when he’s with us. My cousins were in there now, snoring away, and all around was the noise of neighbours’ chatter and laughter, and radios, and someone calling.

I moved one of the cousins along, and we got close in to the side, where I store my things. It’s a crate that beer came in, and it’s up on one side. I’ve got a spare pair of shorts, another two T-shirts and a pair of slippers. I’ve also got my little spread of treasures, like all the boys do. With me it’s a penknife I found, with a broken blade – still a good little tool. I’ve got a cup with a picture of the Virgin Mary. I’ve got a watch that doesn’t go. I’ve got a little plastic duck, which the cousins play with, and I’ve got one
pair of jeans. The jeans were wrapping up the precious bag, and it felt dangerous just to be unwrapping it.

Gardo held a candle close and sat hunched, watching me. We were both bending over it. When I glanced up at him, his lips were thin. The whites of his eyes stood out like a pair of eggs.

‘We gotta move it,’ he said. ‘You can’t leave it here, boy.’

‘I think you’re right,’ I said. ‘Where to?’

He paused.

I pulled out the ID and looked at the man. José Angelico, looking back at me sadly. And his little girl, more serious. ‘What do you think he’s done?’ I said.

‘Something bad,’ said Gardo. ‘And when they come back, I think they going to talk to you again … You see the way that guy was looking at you?’

I nodded.

‘You see the way he was touching you? He’s got you fixed.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘You too, maybe.’ I laughed. ‘You think he wants to be our special friend?’

‘This isn’t funny,’ said Gardo. ‘We need Rat.’

‘Why Rat?’

‘I’m thinking it’s about the only place they’re not gonna look.’

‘You think he’ll take it, though? Rat’s not stupid.’

‘Give him ten, he’ll take it. Break his arms if he doesn’t.’ Gardo took the ID and put it away. ‘They won’t go down there, the police – they won’t even see him.’

I knew it was a good plan. I knew it was the only plan as well, because we had to get it out of the house.

‘Do it now?’ I said.

Gardo nodded.

‘Don’t threaten him, though,’ I said. ‘He’ll do it for me.’

Still Raphael.

So sorry, but I want to tell about Rat, and then I will hand over.

Rat is a boy – three or four years younger than me. His real name is Jun-Jun. Nobody called him that, though, because he lived with the rats and had come to look like one. He was the only kid in Behala that I knew of who had no family at all, and at that time I didn’t know too much about his past. There were plenty of boys without fathers, and a lot like me without mothers either. But if you had no parents, you had aunties or uncles, or older brothers, or cousins, and so there was always somebody who would take care of you and give you a bit of the mat to sleep on, and a plate of rice. The thing about Rat was, he had nobody, because he’d come from some place way out of the city – and if it hadn’t been for the Mission School he’d have been dead.

Gardo and I went back down the ladders with the candles. I’d put the bag under my T-shirt, and tried to hold my arms so it wasn’t too obvious – but it was as if people didn’t want to see me anyway. Auntie especially was looking away, and shifted so she had her back to us both. We crossed the roadway and were soon deep in amongst the trash.

I better say, the trash is alive at night: that’s when the rats come out strong. During the day you don’t see so many, and they stay out of your path. You get a surprise now and then when one jumps up, and sometimes you get a good kick and send one spinning. Not often, though. They’re quick, and they can dive, jump, fly and squirm their way out of anywhere.

I followed Gardo, and on either side I was aware of the little grey movements. There is light over Behala, because some of the trucks come at night – they’ve rigged up big floodlights, and they’re usually on. We’d gone left, right, over the little canal that just about gets through, stinking of the dead – and then off we went into a lane only the trash people use – no trucks, and not even many people. It was dead trash underfoot, and it was damp – you were up to your knees. Soon we came to one of the old belt-machines, but this one was disused and rotting. The belt itself had been stripped out, and the wooden panels had been taken. It was just a huge metal frame, rusting away. The arm that held the belt pointed up into the sky like a big finger, and now and then kids would climb it and sit
in the breeze. At ground level, its legs were sunk into concrete piles, and underneath the legs was a hole.